"You have not told me yet, what has brought you home in such a hurry," said Theodosia.
"Was there need? I heard from you this morning that Lettice would arrive to-day."
"Well?" indifferently.
"That was sufficient."
Theodosia's lips formed an "Absurd!" again.
"If I had heard sooner, I could have sent notice of my intentions."
Theodosia was uncomfortably silent. She had kept Lettice's letter to her husband two days before sending it on: the said letter being undated. But from Dr. Bryant's manner, she saw that he was not without suspicion of the fact. This was true: and a passing gleam of surprise on Lettice's face confirmed his suspicion. He asked no further questions, however. It was by no means the first time that he had had reason to fear a lack of straightforwardness in his wife.
For instance, he knew now that a telegram had been sent to tell of Cecilia's illness and detention at Reading: and he knew, with an almost certain knowledge, that the said telegram had been delivered into Theodosia's hands. Only, in face of her assertions, and notwithstanding the proved truthfulness of the messenger, he generously would not count it quite certain, and therefore, he said nothing. But his trust in her could no longer be absolute; and his eyes had become quick to note discrepancies. To put her to shame before Lettice would, however, have been the last thing he could desire.
"Lettice is to sleep, I suppose, in the spare room?" he said suddenly. Theodosia had expected no such question.
"In a spare room—yes, of course," slurring over the tiny word "a."